


moonlight waltz

by mismoree



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dancing Lessons, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Past Violence, Pining, Slow Dancing, cyrus is oblivious as usual, dancer!Therion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 16:44:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15667206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mismoree/pseuds/mismoree
Summary: Objectively, Primrose's dances were breathtaking, her movements lending her a grace and serenity that was difficult to replicate. Cyrus admired her abilities in the same way he admired a piece of artwork. He appreciated the skill and technicality that went into such artistic endeavors, but was rarely driven to an emotional response.And yet.Therion began to spin with intent, his body coiled like a whipcord, and Cyrus's heart jolted.





	moonlight waltz

Dancing was an activity that Cyrus enjoyed immensely, despite being unable to partake in it regularly. The Atlasdam Academy occasionally held balls to celebrate newcomers and graduates alike. Nothing gave him more pleasure than his studies, but the occasional break in monotony was never unwelcome.

So, when Primrose suggested training another dancer to balance out the party, Cyrus was more than happy to volunteer. Primrose's dances were graceful and carried a sense of wonder, and learning how to replicate that would be a valuable intellectual investment.

It immediately became clear, however, that the dances he had been taught were nothing like Primrose's.

"Let's try again," Primrose said lightly, and Cyrus didn't need his deductive abilities to tell that she'd begun to lose patience with his subpar performance. "Smooth transitions are essential to a good dance." She followed her statement by twirling around her foot, her movements fluid and sensual.

He attempted to replicate her actions, but he could already tell that his motion lacked the flourish and expertise that hers did. He stumbled through the twirl that Primrose had made look as effortless as breathing.

"I must say," Cyrus said, pausing to catch his breath for a moment, "You make this look much easier than it actually is. My goodness."

That made Primrose crack a smile. "Well," she said, "I have been practicing for most of my life. I'm sure I wouldn't be able to teach your classes after only a day of studies."

As stoic as Primrose was on the battlefield, her words constantly reminded Cyrus what a kindhearted person she was.

"I'm afraid that not even a lifetime of practice would improve my form," he said, regretful. Even so, he still wished to master at least the one move before giving up altogether.

He followed Primrose's instructions dutifully once more. Cyrus had already seen Primrose execute it several times, and by now he could visualize every movement. A twirl, before stepping into a leap and balancing on one foot, gracefully reaching outward with one arm while extending the other leg. He managed to complete the twirl but stumbled during the transition into a leap. _Goodness_ , but dancing was exhausting. The fatigue of a ballroom waltz was not even comparable.

"You're still doing it wrong."

Both Cyrus and Primrose paused, glancing toward the source of the interruption. Therion had been silently whittling in the corner ever since dinner had ended, though he had evidently been observing them practice for quite some time. Cyrus had almost forgotten he was there.

Therion set aside his wood carving and stood up to join them.

"You're not shifting your weight properly," Therion said. "You need to stay balanced on your left foot so you can leap forward with your right. Here, like this-,"

Therion stepped back, giving himself plenty of room before moving into his demonstration.

Objectively, Primrose's dances were breathtaking, her movements lending her a grace and serenity that was difficult to replicate. Cyrus admired her abilities in the same way he admired a piece of artwork. He appreciated the skill and technicality that went into such artistic endeavors, but was rarely driven to an emotional response.

And yet.

Therion began to spin with intent, his body coiled like a whipcord, and Cyrus's heart jolted.

His movement was technically identical to Primrose's, but his dance carried an energy that was almost tangible. Therion's movements were much quicker than Primrose's had been, spinning with a frenetic passion that Cyrus had never seen from him before. Despite the chaotic motions, Therion never once appeared to lose control over his tempo. If Primrose's dance was a flowing river, Therion's was a thunderstorm.

Just as suddenly as it began, Therion slowed, and deftly transitioned into an almost dainty leap forward. The contrast in motions made Therion appear as though he was floating in air. He landed gracefully on one foot before flowing into the dance's final position. He balanced precisely on one foot with his opposite arm outstretched, limbs parallel with the wooden floorboards beneath them. Therion's body never wavered for a moment, perfectly poised.

Primrose's dance had evoked a sense of tranquility, but Therion...

Therion was _electrifying_.

"Yes!" Primrose said, clapping her hands together and snapping Cyrus out of his stunned reverie. "Perfect! I didn't know you had dancing experience, Therion."

"Not really," Therion said, returning to a more relaxed posture and crossing his arms in front of him. He seemed entirely unaware that his impromptu performance had sent Cyrus's heart into such conniptions. "A good thief needs dexterity and flexibility. Dancing is just another way to utilize those skills."

Therion performed feats of dexterity and flexibility every time they marched into battle. None of those occasions had garnered such an awestruck reaction.

"I would love to teach you a few choreographies," Primrose said, giving Therion a once-over. "How would you feel about some dance training?" She looked eager at the opportunity to teach a student who could perform at her level. Cyrus was too distracted to feel offended at the indirect slight.

"Dancing? I've never really been interested."

Perhaps that was for the best. He was still reeling from the strange emotional response he'd had to Therion's performance. If this was to be a one-time occurrence, he would mark it down as an anomaly, and never think further of it.

"If people are busy looking at you, they won't be looking at their pockets," Primrose said, pulling out her trump card. "It'd be a great asset to have in your arsenal of thieving tricks, don't you think? You never know when it might be useful."

That drew a snort from Therion.

"Fair point," he said, and shrugged. "I guess I'll take you up on that offer, then."

"Wonderful!" Primrose said. "I have an outfit that will look simply _stunning_ on you." She led Therion away by the arm, leaving Cyrus alone with his internal predicament.

He had never had such a profound response to an expression of artistic ability before. Therion's dance – and it could barely be called a dance – had affected Cyrus down to his core. He was both discomfited and thrilled.

And since Therion had accepted Primrose's offer of lessons, this would most certainly not be the last time he bore witness to Therion's unique style of dancing. In fact, if Therion practiced even half as often as Primrose-

Oh. Oh, _dear_.

 

* * *

 

The first time Therion showed up to the tavern in his dancing outfit, Cyrus nearly choked on his drink.

It had begun as a normal evening. He had been sitting with Olberic in the tavern for several hours. Olberic had agreed to answer some questions about his time during Hornburg's rule, and Cyrus could hardly contain his excitement long enough to find something to write with. He'd already taken pages of notes.

At some point the others must have trickled in - Alfyn and Primrose were giggling in the corner over one of Tressa's outlandish stories - but he had been too engaged in his conversation to pay them much mind.

Olberic had been describing the management practices of the former monarchy when Primrose suddenly gasped in delight. That was never a good sign. Cyrus looked over to see what had captured Primrose's attention and froze.

Therion had abandoned his characteristic poncho in favor of an outfit that could have only come from Primrose's wardrobe. His cheeks were dusted a faint pink; he must have been unused to wearing something so revealing.

Cyrus had never been a person who was overly concerned with the physical appearances of others, but Therion looked ethereal in the shimmering lilac fabrics. It was like the outfit Primrose favored, but the top was held up by a single strap, leaving Therion's other shoulder bared. The loose-fitting pants and decorative sleeves were adorned with golden ornaments that glittered under the candlelight.

He'd never been a religious man, but he suddenly wanted to fall to his knees and pray. It was completely uncharacteristic of him. He would have to reflect on it later.

"Looking good, Therion!" Alfyn said, grinning cheerfully and giving Therion two thumbs up.

"...Thanks," Therion said. In the few months the group had been traveling together, the two young men had already formed a unique camaraderie and could often be found drinking together.

"So?" Primrose said, sounding eager. "What do you think? I knew it would look great on you, but do you like wearing it?"

"Not a lot of places to stash things," Therion said, "but it's easier to move around in." And then he stretched his arms above his head, accentuating the toned muscles of his exposed midriff, and Cyrus was lucky that he was already sitting down because he was sure he'd have lost his balance otherwise.

Something must have shown on his face, because Olberic grinned and sympathetically thumped him on the back.

The two of them had chosen a table close to the bar, and Therion gave them a nod of acknowledgement when he went to order a drink from the bartender.

"I take it your lessons with Primrose have been going well?" Cyrus said, making direct eye contact so his gaze wouldn't wander elsewhere.

"Well," Therion said, "she says I'm much better than her last student."

Cyrus's first instinct was to be offended, but he caught the faint smile tugging at the corner of Therion's lips. He was still growing used to the concept of friendly teasing, but he was becoming quite fond of it.

"Her last student must have truly been dreadful, then," Cyrus said wryly.

"Oh, I don't know," Therion said, and the faint smile shifted into a smirk. "I'm sure he's talented in other areas."

That made Cyrus smile. While he knew he had made a fool of himself as a dancer, he took pride in his abilities as a scholar, and diligently maintained an aptitude for spellwork. It pleased him that Therion had cared to mention those talents.

Then Therion leaned forward to collect his drink, and Cyrus's smile vanished, along with any amusement he'd been feeling. Therion's revealing garments had exposed a tapestry of scar tissue mottling his back.

Cyrus's brain had already begun to sift through the evidence without his consent. _Evenly dispersed scar tissue, consistent with injuries sustained from a significant fall of at least ten meters, no correlating scar tissue on his stomach indicates he fell backwards, had he been shoved? Had someone-_

It took a conscious effort to stop speculating. Therion's choice in clothing was not an invitation for Cyrus to probe into his past. He knew he could be occasionally uninformed when it came to social etiquette, but even he knew prying here would be a misstep.

Therion must have sensed the shift in atmosphere, and Cyrus knew that he would be aware of the likely cause.

But Therion didn't mention it, and so neither did Cyrus.

"I'll leave you to it, then," Therion said quietly, and retreated to an empty table, drink in hand. Cyrus watched the golden ornaments on his hips sway as he walked away.

"My friend," Olberic said. "You have it bad."

"I beg your pardon?"

Olberic let out a booming laugh and refused to elaborate further.

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, Cyrus had returned to his room to update his records on Hornburg, only to discover that he'd forgotten his notes in the tavern. He'd never known himself to be so careless with his possessions, especially something as important as his research notebook. Irritated with his negligence, he ventured back into the tavern.

The only ones who remained at the late hour were Therion and Alfyn, who had migrated toward the bar and were still drinking. Neither of them noticed his arrival, but he could faintly make out what they were discussing.

"-just don't see how I could be _more_ obvious," Therion was saying, and took another swig from his mug. "I mean. I thought the outfit would be enough."

"That full-body stretch was inspired," Alfyn said. "I wouldn't worry about it, man. It'll happen when it happens, you know?"

Cyrus blinked. Without context, he had no idea what sort of matter the two were discussing. He didn't think more of it, collecting his notebook and leaving without a word. It had nothing to do with him, anyway.

 

* * *

 

Travelling through the Sunlands was shaping up to be the most strenuous experience of Cyrus's life.

The heat was blistering. The winds gusted violently, making it difficult to takes notes. They had limited water and his throat was already feeling the consequences. These trials were all consequential.

Therion had decided, in such a scorching climate, to wear his dancer's outfit regularly.

It was a reasonable choice, objectively. Cyrus's preferred attire was much more suited to the cool climate of the Flatlands, and he was sweltering under the thick fabrics. He wished he had been able to stick with Primrose's tutelage, if only for the lighter uniform.

He found himself distracted by the way Therion's sheer sleeves fluttered in the breeze. And the way the golden ornamental strands around his waist swayed with every motion Therion made. And the way the sunlight reflected off Therion's exposed skin.

This was becoming rather ridiculous.

"Primrose, can I be your 'prentice too?" Tressa moaned, fanning herself with a wooden fan she had purchased in the last town they visited. "I want dancer clothes..."

"Yeah, you really missed an opportunity there," Therion said, and spun in front of her with a smirk. "Is it too hot for you? I can't tell with this breeze." He cackled at Tressa when she moved to hit him with her fan.

"I have more than one outfit, you know," Primrose said, patting Tressa on the back. "Once we settle for the night I'll pick out one for you. Does that sound okay?"

Tressa perked up.

"Actually, I probably have enough outfits for all of us. What do you say, Alfyn? Would you be interested?"

Alfyn grinned and struck a pose. "You know it!"

"Cyrus would look absolutely charming in one of my black outfits, too," Primrose continued, pondering. "What do you think, Therion?"

Therion fixed Primrose with a withering look and walked past them without a word. How peculiar.

"You know who would look best as a dancer?" Alfyn said, cutting through the awkward silence. "Olberic."

Olberic looked contemplative. "You think so?" he said dryly, but he couldn't hide the pink tinge that colored his cheeks.

Then Linde began to growl, and the playful atmosphere shattered. H'aanit motioned for them to be quiet and closed her eyes.

"Bandits ahead," H'aanit said after a pause, and reached for her bow. "Two groups, from the left and the right. It woulde seem they plan to flank us."

"We'll have to split up," Olberic said. "Primrose, Ophilia, Alfyn, with me. We'll take the right group and try to get the jump on them."

Cyrus sighed, and retrieved a spell tome from his bag. With any luck, it would be an easy fight.

 

* * *

 

It was not an easy fight.

The bandits were more organized and more well-trained than Cyrus had hoped for. If they had fallen for the ambush in the first place he had no doubt that they'd have been overrun immediately. Even with the element of surprise on their side, a victory was becoming less and less likely.

His magic stores were running low. He might be able to manage one more low-level spell before he'd be forced into close-range combat, but he needed to find an opening.

Therion leaped backwards, narrowly avoiding a slice from one of the bandit's blades.

"Shit," Therion said, wiping blood from his lip. "This isn't working."

A quick glance across the battlefield proved Therion's words true. H'aanit and Linde were both dealing with a brawler almost twice H'aanit's size, and Tressa was providing as much support as she could at long range. The rest of the group were taking care of the second group of bandits further ahead and were barely holding their own.

"Perhaps we should consider a retreat?" Cyrus said, already knowing it was a futile option. There was nothing but a wide expanse of sand surrounding them, and it would take little time for the bandits to catch up to them.

Therion didn't respond.

"I have an idea," Therion said. "It's stupid, but it's worth a shot. Watch my back."

Therion's stupid ideas usually involved a frenetic onslaught of dagger-fueled fury, so Cyrus was taken aback when Therion merely paused to take a deep breath.

"What on Earth are you-," Cyrus began, but his words left him when Therion sheathed his weapons. He sauntered forward into the thick of the fight, and Cyrus's heart began to race.

"Therion, _wait_ ," he hissed, but Therion was already out of his reach. He was relaxed and loose-limbed, despite the dangerous position he was putting himself in.

Therion stopped just out of the bandits' reach. His lips curved into a suggestive smile, and he beckoned to them with outstretched arms.

" _This world is full of mysteries_ ," Therion said, his voice low and sultry. The ornamental bangles on his arms swayed in the desert wind, and Therion glided into his dance.

His movements were difficult to track. Therion had moved into a complicated step sequence where his feet barely touched the ground before moving into his next movement. It was like the laws of gravity bended to Therion's whims. Cyrus had never seen anything like it before.

Primrose had practiced a similar technique in battle several times. But she had never put herself at risk on the front lines like Therion.

Therion's routine was as entrancing as always, but Cyrus was much too distracted by the vulnerable position Therion had put himself in. One wrong move and Therion could end up with a knife in his chest. The thought sent cold panic crawling up his throat.

The bandits paused in their assault while Therion continued his impromptu performance. Most of them were simply bewildered, but the bandit's leader was mesmerized. His eyes, which had been clouded with rage, now held a flicker of want.

The bandit leader took a step toward Therion.

Cyrus's fingers twitched.

The air crackled with energy. The sky, which had been an expanse of solid blue, began to swirl with a tempest of dark grey clouds. A thunderous clap reverberated through the air, and thick bolts of lightning struck the ground. Once, twice, three times, sending up a dust cloud of sand with a deafening roar.

When the dust cleared, every single one of the bandits had collapsed to the ground, singed and motionless.

In a single moment, the tides of battles had turned in their favor. H'aanit used the distraction to trip the remaining brawler to his knees, and Linde pounced to finish him off.

It was nothing short of a miracle. Had Therion's dance really gifted them with such unnatural luck that had summoned a thunderstorm out of thin air?

It wasn't until he braced himself on his knees with exhaustion that the realization hit him.

_Cyrus_ was the one who had cast the spell.

"Nice work, Professor!" Tressa said, wiping her brow. "I thought we were goners for sure!"

"Ah, yes. I was waiting for the proper moment to strike," he lied, breathless from the exertion of draining his magic. He was doubtful he could even produce a single spark in his current state.

Tressa dusted the residual sand from her dress and waved at Therion. "Thanks for distracting them, too!" she said, and bounced off to where the rest of their group was dealing with the remaining bandits. H'aanit gave both Cyrus and Therion a once-over to make sure they weren't seriously wounded before following her.

Therion's eyes had been locked on Cyrus from the moment he'd cast the spell. When Cyrus looked back at him, he broke eye contact and walked toward the pile of bandits, crouching next to them and opening his pack.

Cyrus should have followed Tressa and offered his aid to the others, but his mind was hazy from a whiplash of emotions. The dull weariness in the face of defeat; the fission of fear when Therion had ambled into almost certain peril; the consuming relief when the danger had passed.

Every one of them risked their lives daily. It was a reality that Cyrus had long since accepted. Therion's strategy should not have phased him as much as it had. And yet, he could do nothing to dampen the anger that had begun to curl in his stomach.

"I don't suppose you were _trying_ to get yourself killed?" Cyrus said, his words sounding more clipped than he had intended.

Therion's hands paused, before he continued rifling through the fallen bandits' belongings.

"It was a calculated risk," Therion said, unconcerned. "And it worked, didn't it? You needed the opening."

He _had_ needed the opening, but that wasn't something he'd mentioned. Therion's intuition on the battlefield was impeccable, and Cyrus wished he could just leave it at that.

"Don't-," he said, trying to find some way to articulate himself, "Don't endanger yourself like that again."

Therion's expression immediately shuttered, and Cyrus knew that his words had been a misstep.

"I don't take orders from you," he bit out.

Cyrus paused. Took a deep breath. Thought carefully about what he was going to say before opening his mouth again.

"I apologize. I should not presume to have any control over your actions," Cyrus said. That didn't sound right, either. "That is... I simply wished to say-,"

Therion continued to glare at him, but he didn't interrupt either, so Cyrus gathered his wits and said what he meant to say.

"You are not _expendable_ , Therion. Your life isn't something to be gambled with. Just...please try to be careful. If not for your sake, then for ours." _For mine._

Something unreadable flashed across Therion's face, but it was gone before Cyrus could analyze it.

"Whatever," he mumbled, slinging his pack over his shoulder and leaving to where the rest of the group had gathered.

That could have gone better.

 

* * *

 

Things had been tense with Therion after the debacle in the Sunlands. Not antagonistic, exactly, but certainly strained. Cyrus hadn't realized how much he'd grown used to Therion's constant quips until they suddenly vanished. At least Therion didn't appear to be angry with him anymore, but Cyrus would often catch him looking pensive.

Everything came to a culmination in Stillsnow.

Stillsnow was home to one of the nicer taverns they'd visited. The last time they'd been there, Primrose had made use of the stage to find out more about the men she was hunting. Now, the stage was bare, with only a lone pianist playing a soft tune.

"It's so wonderful to be back in the Frostlands," Ophilia said, sipping on a mug of warmed cider. "And the weather has been lovely, too!"

Cyrus didn't know which weather she was referring to. Certainly not the veritable snowstorm raging outside? He'd finally begun to warm up after a mug of tea, and he'd been sitting inside by the fireplace for nearly an hour.

"Ophilia, thou must be the only one who thinks so," H'aanit said, drawing her furs tighter around her shoulders.

"Oh, come now," Ophilia said. "I'm sure Linde agrees with me." She reached down to scratch behind Linde's ears, and the snow leopard let out a contented purr.

When Ophilia stretched back up, her eyes lit up.

"Now _this_ is an interesting sight!" Ophilia clapped her hands, her attention focused on the stage.

Therion was leaning against the piano, fully clad in his dancer's attire. He'd been bundled up like the rest of them in the frozen Frostlands climate, but for some reason he'd decided to shed his warmer clothes.

Primrose flopped into the seat next to Cyrus, seeming pleased with herself. She had also discarded her winter furs in favor of her usual outfit.

"I made a deal with the barkeeper," Primrose said. "Free rooms at the inn tonight, if we provide the evening's entertainment. Therion offered to go first."

" _Therion_ offered?" Cyrus said, his mouth moving before his mind could catch up.

"He's been working on his own choreography," Primrose said. "I've only seen parts of it. I'm quite excited to see what he's come up with."

Cyrus had only ever seen scattered segments of Therion's dancing. Primrose had performed many times over the course of their journey, but Therion had never joined her. The longest he'd seen Therion dance for was during the incident in the Sunlands, and that was something he tried not to think about.

He wasn't sure if he was ready to see an entire performance of his.

Therion must have reached some sort of agreement with the pianist, because he nodded his head and moved toward the center of the stage. He melted into an elegant stance and waited for his musical cue.

Cyrus's heart sped up from a mixture of excitement and anticipation. He didn't appear to be alone in his response, either. The mood of the entire tavern had shifted. Patrons who had been locked in conversation quieted, their attention focused on the sole figure standing on the stage.

A single note echoed through the silence. Therion spun into a loose twirl, achingly slow, and yet Cyrus could sense a taught energy coiled in his limbs. He was struck with such a feeling of _solitude_ as Therion danced across the stage. The piano created a haunting melody that followed Therion's every movement.

The music intensified, and so did Therion. With every spin and gesture Therion made, he offered a glimpse into who he was as a person. Cyrus saw a man who had trusted deeply. Someone who had felt pain, _such_ pain, and survived it despite everything the world had thrown at him.

Cyrus was _captivated_. How could one person express so much through simple movements of the body? He couldn't begin to fathom it.

There hadn't been a precise turning point, but after a while the tone of Therion's performance had shifted. Whereas his movements had initially conveyed a sense of resigned despair, they now sang with a tentative hope. He moved like a drowning man who'd been thrown a lifeline.

Therion was laying bare his emotions for the world to see, and Cyrus could not look away.

The melody swelled, and the final stage of Therion's dance was hypnotic. He finished with a dizzy spin just as the music reached its conclusion. Therion didn't even look winded, melting into a graceful bow.

The room burst into a passionate round of applause. The rest of their traveling companions had even risen in a standing ovation. Therion looked uncomfortable at the enthusiastic reception.

Cyrus knew he should be applauding as well, but he was rooted to his seat, speechless.

It was _so much._

It was too much.

"Cyrus?" Ophilia said, concerned, but Cyrus was already out of his seat, walking toward the doors and ignoring the way Therion's eyes followed his movements.

Snow continued to fall softly outside, and the cold air was a relief from the sweltering heat of the tavern. He clutched the wooden railing outside of the tavern, and snow soaked through his gloves. and tried to calm his racing heart.

Why had Therion's dances continued to enthrall him time and time again? Was he the only one who felt this way? His companions appeared impressed with Therion's skills, but none of them had become so overcome with emotion that they retreated outside.

Leaving without even a parting word had been unquestionably rude of him. He needed to return inside and express his appreciation for Therion's performance.

Cyrus took one last deep breath, steeling himself, before the sound of the tavern doors opening echoed behind him.

"You left pretty quickly."

Therion had followed him outside, slowly closing the doors behind him. He had thrown his well-worn poncho over his dancing attire, though it would do little to protect him from the frigid winter air.

"Forgive me," Cyrus said. "I did not mean to depart so abruptly. It was through no fault of your own." Which was only partially a lie.

"Right. That's why you bolted right after I finished dancing."

The words were toneless, but a quick glance at Therion's expression revealed a touch of vulnerability, and that was simply unacceptable.

"Your performance was enthralling," Cyrus said firmly. "It was... overwhelming, even. I merely left to collect myself."

Therion didn't respond. He leaned over the railing next to Cyrus, his poncho slipping forward to reveal a strip of skin on his back.

"You've truly taken to the stage," Cyrus said, pointedly looking forward. "Primrose must be ecstatic at how well you've been picking up her lessons."

"She wouldn't stop grinning at me during that entire dance," Therion said. "It was kind of distracting."

"Is that so? I... hadn't noticed." He hadn't noticed anything else but Therion during his performance. Not that he would confess to as much.

"I didn't think I'd enjoy it," Therion said, looking off into the distance. "Dancing, that is. I thought it would be a nice skill to have in my toolset. If people are looking at me, they're not looking at their coinpurses. It seemed practical."

With his dancing, Therion would be an unstoppable force at any gathering of nobles. Cyrus almost pitied them.

"But," Therion said, and smiled faintly, "I've been having a lot of fun too."

Cyrus had never seen such a genuine smile on Therion's face before, and he had the sudden urge to do something, _anything_ , to relieve the sudden clenching in his chest. All he could do was stare wordlessly at the snowflakes flecking Therion's hair.

A soft piano melody resonated through the air. Instead of cracking the tension between them, the music deepened it even further.

"I guess Primrose is taking the stage now," Therion said. "I was just the opening act."

The music was light, melodic and soft in a way that Therion's music hadn't been. A nostalgic feeling settled over him, and it took him a moment to realize why.

"I've heard this piece before," he said. "Several times, at the Palace's balls. It was a favorite of the princess."

"You, at a ball? Now that's something I'd pay to watch," Therion said, a teasing note in his voice. "On average, how many toes would you step on?"

"I'll have you know, I was an excellent ballroom dancer." Cyrus said. He hadn't been at first, but he'd enjoyed the activity enough to practice in private. Perhaps he had spent more time than he should have trying to improve himself, but the end results had made his efforts worthwhile.

"Oh?" Therion asked, smirking, "I don't know if I believe you. I've seen you dance before, you know."

For once, Cyrus wanted to do something impulsive.

"Would you like me to prove it?" Cyrus said, and held out his hand.

Therion looked startled at the invitation, staring at him with a somewhat mystified expression. The moment stretched on. Cyrus was about to retract his offer and apologize when Therion gingerly took Cyrus's hand.

With Therion's other hand clasped loosely on his shoulder, Cyrus had no choice but to place his gloved hand on Therion's waist. The placement of Therion's hand had caused his poncho to scrunch up, and Cyrus let his gloved hand settle over the bare skin that was revealed.

Cyrus was adept enough on the ballroom floor, but he was by no means a natural. He enjoyed the act of dancing, but as a beginner he would constantly trip over his own feet. With enough practice, he had the art of ballroom dancing down to a science. Follow the tempo of the music precisely, and make sure his steps are measured and even. He just had to listen intently and remain focused on where he was stepping.

Dancing with Therion was nothing like that.

He wasn't thinking about which move he needed to make next. He was lost in the music and the rhythm, Therion matching his steps perfectly. Normally he paid careful attention to his surroundings and any potential obstacles, but all he could do was stare at Therion, the moonlight gleaming across his uncovered eye.

It wasn't something he'd actively thought about before, but Therion was _small_. He'd known Therion was one of the shorter members of their group, but he'd never been close enough to draw an accurate comparison. The top of Therion's head was barely level with the bridge of his nose.

The music reached a crescendo, and Cyrus led Therion into a loose twirl, which Therion executed with precision. When Therion spun back toward him, he placed his hands on Cyrus's waist instead, neatly reversing their roles and causing something to flutter in his chest.

Therion led Cyrus into a perfect step sequence, his footwork confident. Watching Therion dance as a member of the audience had been one thing, but dancing alongside him was a privilege that Cyrus could never take for granted.

The music slowed to a finish, and so did their spontaneous waltz. Neither of them made a movement, suspended beneath the moonlight. Cyrus was caught by Therion's gaze.

Therion looked expectant. He must have been waiting for Cyrus to move away; it was irregular to remain in such close contact after a dance was finished. He lowered his arms from Therion's shoulders and stepped back.

"You really are a natural," Cyrus said, straightening out his jacket.

Therion gaped at him before shaking his head, exasperated.

"And you really are an _idiot_ ," Therion said, and then grabbed Cyrus by the collar and pulled him down into a kiss.

Therion's lips were warm, creating a scorching heat that chased away the winter chill settled over his skin. Cyrus stood, his mind blank, until Therion eventually pulled away.

He blinked.

"Oh." The words were soft, barely a whisper. Cyrus couldn't think of anything else to say. He just stared at Therion dumbly, who had begun to look wary.

It was as if something clicked inside of him, and suddenly Cyrus's strange behavior over the past several months began to make sense.

" _Oh_ ," he repeated, the single word filled with wonderment, and the delight of his discovery swept over him.

Therion snorted, looking less hesitant.

"Figured it out?" Therion said, and Cyrus had no choice but to cup Therion's face in his hands and kiss him again. When he pulled back he could see a few snowflakes that clung to Therion's eyelashes, and he was struck with the urge to sweep over them with his thumb.

"I must confess," Cyrus said, "I did not realize the extent of my feelings toward you. I don't believe I've ever felt this way about anyone before."

Therion's cheeks were already flushed from the cold, but Cyrus swore they reddened even further.

"Shut up," he said, looking away. "You can't just... _say_ shit like that."

That sounded like a challenge.

"You are _exquisite_ ," Cyrus continued, ignoring him. Now that he understood his own feelings, he wished only to wax poetic about Therion until his breath left him. "You dance with an ethereal beauty that is humbling to-Urk!"

He sputtered; Therion had swept up a handful of snow from the railing and planted it directly in Cyrus's face. Some of the snow had gotten into his mouth, and his teeth clenched from the sudden cold. He tried to spit it out, his face scrunched up.

Therion burst into laughter.

It wasn't the first time Cyrus had seen Therion's amusement, which usually came in the form of a snort and a wry smirk. He'd never seen Therion laugh so freely before. The honest grin stretching across his face was a sight that Cyrus never wanted to forget.

Cyrus could do nothing but laugh in response, his heart light and giddy in a way that it had never been before. He would happily take another face full of snow if it meant seeing Therion laugh with such joy.

There were still many trials they both had to undergo over the course of their journey. But at that moment, under the blanket of snow and the soft moonlight, Cyrus had never been happier.

**Author's Note:**

> shout-out to everyone in the discord who motivated me to finish this! ily
> 
> update: the incredible @theeyesofadreamer drew some fanart for this fic! you can find it on tumblr here: [https://theeyesofadreamer.tumblr.com/post/177663001444](https://theeyesofadreamer.tumblr.com/post/177663001444/that-drawing-of-dancertherion-i-said-i-was-gonna) thank you so much for drawing and sharing this!


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